


Indulging in Some Creative Expression

by hmweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Dean Thomas, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, F/M, Painting, Supportive Friend Luna Lovegood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 17:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmweasley/pseuds/hmweasley
Summary: After her divorce, Ginny isn't quite herself. When Luna takes it upon herself to find her a new hobby, Ginny doesn't expect it to stick. She expects even less for it to help her reconnect with an old friend.





	Indulging in Some Creative Expression

Ginny’s eyes scanned the shop as she followed Luna further into its depths.

“You know,” she remarked, “when you told me you were forcing me out of the house for my own good, I figured we were shopping for clothes or Quidditch supplies. Things I usually enjoy. The last thing I expected was an art supplies store.”

Luna smiled at her over her shoulder. On either side of them were shelves lined with paints in every shade imaginable.

“You need a new hobby,” Luna said, turning around to face her friend. “It’s not enough for me to take you on one trip to Diagon Alley when you’re just going to go back home alone and sit around stewing over everything. I know the divorce has been hard on you, especially with the kids out of the house, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay miserable, Gin.”

“I have plenty of hobbies,” Ginny said, crossing her arms against her chest. “Quidditch, for one.”

“You can’t play Quidditch by yourself. And sure, you can go flying, but I’m not convinced that actually clears your head.”

Ginny wanted to fire back, but Luna was right. She’d tried flying, but it only gave her too much time to think of what she’d lost over the past year. That wasn’t something she was willing to reveal in the middle of an unfamiliar shop though.

“So, you want me to take up painting?” she asked, scowling at the blue paints nearest her. “I’ve never painted in my life.”

“There’s no shame in starting now,” Luna said with a beaming smile. “Art has always helped me process what I’m going through. Maybe it won’t distract you, but it’ll do something even better: get those emotions out of you and onto a canvas. Or paper. Whatever you want to use. The most important rule of art is that there are no rules.”

Ginny looked at the paints distrustfully.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said.

“Like I said, there are no rules. Let’s start with the paint itself. What colours do you want for your first painting?”

Ginny eyed the store’s supply. There were so many of them that she didn’t have a clue where to start. Even if she knew she wanted pink for the painting, how was she supposed to know which shade was best?

“What am I painting?”

“That’s up to you. No rules, remember?” Luna said in a sing-song voice.

With an exaggerated sigh, Ginny plucked a deep purple paint from the shelf, plopping it unceremoniously into the basket Luna held. Her friend raised an eyebrow and watched until Ginny pulled another colour from the shelf and another and another. 

The colours weren’t chosen with a finished product in mind. At some point, Ginny was able to start following Luna’s advice and pull whatever colours seemed the nicest to her from the shelf. She had no clue how they would come together into a cohesive picture, but she wasn’t going to be Picasso anyway.

As they left the shop with the paints and other supplies—all picked out by Luna—in tow, Ginny couldn’t help but say, “This is going to be a disaster.”

Luna gave her a small smile but nothing more.

* * *

Ginny chewed on the inside of her cheek as she considered the paints laid out in front of her. She had no idea where to start. One of the canvases Luna had picked out for her was perched on her new easel, but what to depict on it was a stumbling block she couldn’t get past. It didn’t help that she wasn’t sure if she was handling the paints correctly. Was she supposed to have one of those weird tray things artists always held with the different colours of paint dotted on it or could she just dip her brush in the paint bottles themselves? 

It felt as if she’d been thrown into a game of Quidditch with no one explaining the rules to her first. She wasn’t going to succeed, but at least there was no one around to witness her humiliation. Luna had told her to let go of everything and let herself paint. Maybe she could do that.

She unscrewed the lid off a deep purple—the first paint she’d picked off the shelf—and dipped her brush in before sweeping it across the canvas without allowing herself to think much of the gesture. She had no idea what she was painting, but if she waited for that, she’d never paint at all. Instead, she dipped her brush in the paint again and made another streak above the first one.

It looked like two random streaks of purple on a canvas. A five-year-old could have done the same thing, but Ginny kept at it, adding other colours and surprising herself when they mixed in ways she hadn’t intended them to.

The finished product wasn’t something she could describe, and it certainly wasn’t something she had intended to make, but she tried to convince herself that it was charming in its own way by channeling Luna’s voice. 

It wasn’t until later that she realized she hadn’t thought about her problem at all in the midst of her painting.

* * *

One thing about painting, Ginny learned, was that you ran out of supplies quickly.

It had surprised her how easy it was to fall into the habit of painting every day. Luna had been right; she felt lighter after painting, even if the end result was worthless. When she ran out of canvases and the colours of paints she favoured most, she needed more.

She could have called Luna and asked her to go to the shop with her again, but she didn’t, feeling self-conscious about how quickly she had used up the supplies. Instead, she ventured to the shop alone, but she hadn’t anticipated how uneasy she’d feel surrounded by so many different supplies.

The only things she knew to look for were identical canvases to what Luna had bought her before. Each time she picked something off the shelf, she expected someone to scold her for picking the wrong item.

She had several canvases tucked under one arm and was browsing through the paints when someone said her name from behind, making her jump.

Twirling around, she came face to face with Dean Thomas, a man whom she hadn’t seen in years.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing the supplies she held in her arms as he took a few steps towards her. “Not that it’s not great to see you,” he added with a smile, “but you were never the artistic type at Hogwarts.”

Ginny straightened to her full height. It was useless trying to hide the supplies, and she had a personal policy of not lying which prevented her from pretending the supplies were for something or someone that they were not.

“I kind of started painting?” she said. “It was Luna’s fault. She thought I needed a hobby, but all I do is splatter paint on a canvas. It’s not really painting, but it occupies my time.”

Dean nodded along with her words. When he didn’t criticize her method, she felt herself relax.

“Splattering paint on canvas can be a fun time,” he said. “I don’t understand why Luna was set on finding you a new hobby though. From what I hear, you’re plenty busy enough. Aren’t you still writing for the Prophet? Your column’s the only part of that paper worth reading these days.”

“Thanks, and yeah, I am. Luna says that doesn’t count because it’s work. She’s been a bit involved in my life recently to be honest. Not that I don’t appreciate it. She says I’ve been sullen since the… Well, I suppose you’ve heard about the divorce.”

Dean shrugged, but Ginny didn’t miss the tension that appeared in his posture when she mentioned it. Her least favourite part of the divorce had been the way people tiptoed around her. Okay. That was an exaggeration. There were too many things she’d hated about the divorce for anything in particular to be the worst, but the tiptoeing around her was proving to be one that stuck around the longest.

“I’ve heard a little about it,” Dean said as if the news had been passed along with the same nonchalance as the news that a neighbor bought a new cauldron.

“You and the rest of Britain,” Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend that the Quidditch section really is the only part of the Prophet you’ve read for the last year.”

“They are obsessed with the situation, aren’t they?” Dean said with a frown. “I’ve thought most of the articles were in bad taste since the start, especially with you working for them.”

“They also still pay Rita Skeeter,” Ginny pointed out. “I don’t have control over anything except the Quidditch section. When I tell them off I get a lecture about interfering with journalism and creating bias in their reporting. I suppose it is difficult not to be biased when your esteemed colleagues are writing articles about how your ex-husband might have cheated on you.”

There was silence between them for a second as Dean debated what to say. Ginny looked at him, challenging him to ask if the story was true or not, but he did no such thing. His eyes instead flickered back to the supplies in her arms.

“That’s a nice colour,” he said, motioning at the tube of light purple paint she’d taken off the shelf. “You have a good eye.”

Ginny snorted.

“It’s just one tube of paint. You shouldn’t be complimenting me on anything when you haven’t seen the junk I’ve been creating.”

“I’m sure it’s nowhere near as bad as you’re making it sound, but if you want, I can give you a few pointers sometime. What could be more fun than catching up with each other while painting?”

Ginny considered the offer. It would be nice to talk with an old friend who wasn’t also in frequent communication with her ex-husband. As much as she loved Luna, she knew the woman had been juggling her friendship with them both since they’d informed her of the divorce. Her relationship with Dean didn’t have quite as much baggage. But she felt ridiculously self-conscious about him seeing her paintings.

She forced the unease to the back of her mind, unwilling to give into it.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said, choosing not to think too much about the slight flutter in her stomach when Dean smiled back.


End file.
